Review: ‘Frankensteins Bloody Nightmare’

Some movies are so bad, even Quentin Tarantino doesn't reference them. But that hasn't stopped Florida-based multi-hyphenate John R. Hand from begetting "Frankensteins Bloody Nightmare," an unwarranted homage to those spectacularly maladroit and soporifically incoherent grindhouse monster mashes of the 1960s and '70s.

Some movies are so bad, even Quentin Tarantino doesn’t reference them. But that hasn’t stopped Florida-based multi-hyphenate John R. Hand from begetting “Frankensteins BloodyNightmare,” an unwarranted homage to those spectacularly maladroit and soporifically incoherent grindhouse monster mashes of the 1960s and ’70s. In the not so grand tradition of Z-movies as “Psyched by the 4-D Witch” and “Manos: The Hands of Fate,” it plumbs the lower depths of awfulness to a degree unmatched by pics merely inept and/or pretentious. Indeed, it could become a cult item by dint of its befuddling cruddiness.

Shot in an eye-straining, headache-inducing mix of grainy Super-8 and clunky video, this self-distribbed cheapie-creepie often resorts to blurry color effects that, back in the day, signified a character on LSD. But, even if the visuals weren’t off-putting and the post-synchronized sound wasn’t painful, it would not be easy to make sense of this scenario about a mad scientist (Hand) who wants to revive his dead (or dying) girlfriend, and who accumulates spare body parts from grisly murders. Just how low is the low budget? Well, consider this: They couldn’t even afford an apostrophe for the title.